


On The Path

by AshToSilver



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshToSilver/pseuds/AshToSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian is nine years old. He has been at his new-found father’s house for two months, and he has already killed Morgan Ducard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Path

**Author's Note:**

> This is the abandoned start from a fic that never happened. Damian meets his father's nemesis-boyfriend for the first time.
> 
>  **EDIT Aug/2016:** I have changed my username, I am now going by AshToSilver on AO3 and [my new Tumblr](http://ashtosilver.tumblr.com/)! You can still call me Alex, but I no longer have a day of the week in my name.

Damian is nine years old. He has been at his new-found father’s house for two months, and he has already killed Morgan Ducard. He still feels strange - like he doesn’t belong, dark skin amongst a collection of white, a killer hiding in a herd of innocences. He’s yet to call Bruce Wayne by his name, by his title (Batman, _father_ ) in anywhere but his own head. He’s memorized the names, the numbers, the information of all his father’s disciples. He’s learnt the house (so big, so _useless_ ), and the feel of the land. He’s gained permission and now spends most of his time in the library, testing his various languages in the massive collection of books. He treasures the few Arabic ones he’s found.

But otherwise, there is little to do. His father refuses to teach him and he is purposeless. He runs through every training routine he knows, but he’s always _done that_ a hundred, a thousand times.

So he wanders. Traces answers from ancestors. Memorises the art. Rounds a corner and-

The killer clown of Gotham is sitting in the hall.

He’s _seen_ this face, his mother taught him. Taught him to avoid it, _fear it_. So few things his mother taught him to fear, but this monster was one of them. He’d seen the videos, heard that dangerous laugh.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but the quiet, well-dressed man isn’t even close.

The Joker wears a dull orange-yellow shirt, accented by a deep green vest, the dark purple pants and black suspenders. He’s got an unknotted tie - banana yellow - looped loosely around his neck, a amethyst coloured suit jacket folded over his arm. He kicks black leather shoes lightly against the carpet, seated on a bench against the wall.

His skin is literally paper white, his hair a rich green. He’s looking in the opposite direction when Damian shows up, but he turns when he hears footsteps. 

His eyes are deep - acid green - and look like Bruce Wayne’s. Wild and intense, like his mind is a massive machine, so big that his body can’t handle the strain and the only way you can tell is to look right at him. There’s a bit of a tired look about his face, like that strain is too much, but there is none of the manic energy Damian has seen in those videos.

He almost looks _normal_.

“ _Ah_. Well, if it isn’t the newest baby bat.” His voice is rich, heavy with that faint Gotham accent. “So glad that you’ve come along, I’m afraid I’ve lost my escort.”

Damian doesn’t say anything - just sort of eyes the clown. Nobody has prepared him for this.

“Mind taking me back to the batcave?” The clown stands up in one fluid motion, gesturing in a direction completely opposite where he intends to go.

His mother had stressed that he should avoid contact with the Joker, at all costs. But his father fights to contain this insanity. This man should be held somewhere he is not a danger to others.

“... It’s this way.” Damian says after a moment, beginning to walk down the hall in what he hopes is a slow enough pace to encourage the Joker to walk in front of him.

Instead, the clown just falls into step beside him. He even _walks_ like a Gothamite - a quick, sure pace with a bit of an odd gilt - like he’s prepared to run or stand his ground at any moment.

“Enjoying the city?” The Joker asks, hands grasped behind his back, intense stare right there when Damian looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

“... It’s cold.” Damian answered. “Very cold.” He lived in the Arabian desert before he came to New Jersey.

“Wait until it snows.” The clown responds, an amused tone in his voice. Damian tries to ignore the brief stab of panic in his gut.

It isn’t until Damian walks into one of the sitting rooms that he realizes he isn’t entirely sure where the Batcave entrance is either. He pauses, tries to wonder where someone to ask would be. He glances up at the clown again - the older man is staring at him intently.

“You know your father loves you, right?” The clown asks, a tone that suggests it's more of a rhetorical question.

“I killed a man in front of him.” Damian ignores the twist in his stomach. “I imagine he detests me. He hasn’t spoken to me in three days.”

“The bat doesn’t detest anyone.” The clown crooks his head. “It isn’t in his nature to hate.”

Damian doesn’t say anything, but his face says he otherwise disagrees.

"Don't worry if he doesn't talk to you for a few days, he does that to everyone. Sometimes he gets too caught up in his work - sometimes he can't put into words what he's feeling. He's practically a man-child when it comes to his emotions." The clown punctuates his declaration by walking out, leaving Damian to follow.

Damian gets the feeling that perhaps this man knows exactly where he’s going.


End file.
